


Titanic

by litmilkovich



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: I'll add more tags along the way, M/M, Monica is medicated and stable, Period Typical Homophobia, Titanic AU, frank is dead, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litmilkovich/pseuds/litmilkovich
Summary: The Titanic is said to be the unsinkable. Ian Gallagher couldn't care less. Mickey Milkovich counts his luck with his won ticket. The two meet, and their worlds collide.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! A few things to get out of the way: I've been using the original Titanic script to make this as much like the movie as possible, that being said: I OWN NONE OF THE SCRIPT USED IN THIS! I have added some original dialogue/events of my own, but the entire concept and most of the dialogue is from the script.

The ship is classy, none like he'd ever imagined it would be. The _unsinkable_ , he pondered before meandering up the boardwalk to see the onlookers who stood on the dock from numerous stories down. He had to admit, the privileged life certainly had its perks.

He startled when he felt a hand on the small of his back, relaxing when he saw it was his mother. "Mother," he greeted gently and kissed her cheek. "It's magnificent," he said idly, giving a slow once over of the view.

"Indeed," Monica smiled and pinched her son's cheek. "However nice the view, though, you need to get into your lunch clothes. The ship is to set sail in a few minutes, and we're at the captains table with Hannah," she said with an eyebrow waggle.

Ian suppressed a shudder at the mention of his fiancé. He quickly changed the subject, "captains table, hm?" He said and turned to face his mother fully. "Ought to be interesting."

Monica hummed in assent, "I'll see you in the dining hall, baby," she murmured and went off to change into her own formal dinner attire.

He peered down after a moment and saw a rather.. interesting exchange near the loading dock where people had been admitted entry to the ship. As the crew were preparing it to be closed, a young man was sprinting from a local bar, duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he shoved the ticket on the mans face who gave it a once over and grudgingly let him in. Ian couldn't help but snicker, eyebrow cocked and hands braced on the railing. He heard the young man whoop and holler at his friends, who shouted obscenities back at him.

Steerage, then. He could tell from the state of his clothes and the way he shamelessly cursed like a sailor. He found himself wanting to see more of the Third Class Mystery Boy.

-

Mickey keept to himself. He's outgoing when he needs to be, but he keeps his friends close and his sketchbook closest. He's still buzzing with excitement, vibrating with it, really. He's on the _Titanic._ He's never felt more alive.

He's people watching idly when he first sees him. His charcoal stills against the paper, eyes zeroing in on a man with vivid red hair and soft emerald eyes. A rowdy Irishman piped up from nearby, "lusting over the affluent, hm?" He winked and sauntered off.

Mickey couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed. He wasn't out, he couldn't be. But, the excuse he was only onlooking the first class deck was fool proof enough to where he could get away with the near blatant staring. However, when Red glanced in his direction, their eyes locked. For a split second, he expected the other man to turn his nose up and wander off. He didn't, only flickered his gaze until a well dressed woman, appearing to be his age, placed a hand on his arm with a stern look on her face with her jaw set. They had a brief exchange, one that left Red tense in the shoulders as he stormed off in her direction.

He didn't know why, but he knew he was going to see more of Red.

-

He felt like he was suffocating. He's in a room full of people in relatively breathable clothing, but he'd never felt more out of breath. It was almost like a pile of rocks had piled on his chest, crowding his space. He excused himself shakily and calmly walked out until he reached the deck; making a run for the back of the ship.

He couldn't care less about the startled men and women he knocked into, only concerned with what he was going to do. Attempt to do.

When his hands finally braced the railing, he gulped down desperate lungfuls of air, removing his shoes and outer coat. His skin went ridged with goosebumps, the air leaving his teeth chattering. He stepped once, twice, until he had enough leverage to haul himself on the other side of the railing. He breathed in the salty air, eyes tearing from the wicked breeze.

"Don't do it."

Ian whipped his head around to see who was there. It was Third Class Mystery Boy. Fantastic. "Stay back, don't come any closer!" He warned shakily, the wind whipping some strands of hair askew.

"Take my hand, I'll pull you back," Mystery Boy offered and extended his palm.

"No, stay where you are! I mean it, I'll let go," he tried sounding serious, but his tone inevitably betrayed him.

Mystery boy raised an eyebrow, "no you won't," he said so casually Ian's blood boiled.

"What do you mean, _'no I wont'_?" Ian spat angrily. "Don't presume to tell me what I will and won't do. You don't know me," he bit defensively.

Mystery Boy stepped closer, "you would've jumped already," he said simply. "Now, c'mon, take my hand," his palm was still extended, eyes inviting.

Ian blinked away tears that had been clouding his vision, "you're distracting me," he huffed. "Go away," he turned his head back to face the rushing waters below him, swallowing dryly around the lump in his throat.

"I can't," he said casually. "I'm involved now. If I let you go," he paused to unlace his right shoe. "I have to jump in after you," he added and pulled it off. "You jump, I jump."

Ian was little confused now. "Don't be absurd," he scoffed and spared a glance behind him. "You'll be killed."

"I'm a good swimmer," he says conversationally, pulling off his worn jacket. He's so nonchalant Ian could scream.

"The fall alone would kill you," he murmured, voice almost drowned out by the wind and waves.

Mystery Boy shrugs, "it would hurt. Not saying it wouldn't," both of his shoes are off now, carelessly tossed by his jacket. "To be honest, I'm more concerned about it being so cold," he steped forward and braced his hands on the railing, leaning over to peer at the water.

Ian hesitated and looked over, "how cold?" He implored, gaze flickering from the ocean to Mystery Boy.

He shrugged, "freezing," he paused and looked to be thinking. "Maybe a few degrees over," he stepped up on one of the rungs of the railing, smelling the air. "Ever been to Chicago?" He asks and hold that same infuriatingly casual tone.

Ian perplexed. What was his  _deal?_  "No," he said indignantly.

"Well, it gets real fuckin' cold there, some of the coldest winters around," he nodded, agreeing with himself. "Once, when I was little, I went to Minnesota on a road trip," he murmured and maintained eye contact with Ian. "Went ice fishing with my pops, fell through some thin ice. Ice fishings when—,"

Ian cut him off irritably, "I know what ice fishing is!" He huffed and turned back to face the water.

Mystery Boy put his hands up defensively, "sorry, sorry. It's just— y'look like an indoor boy, is all," he amended. "Anyway," he continued, "I'm tellin' ya," he shook his head in near disbelief. "That shit is cold. Like the water down there," he jut in chin downward. "Feels like a thousand knives stabbing all over your body. You can't think, you can't breathe, least not about anything but the pain," he sounded serious enough to make Ian's skin crawl.

Ian gulped, his eyes trained on the white crests of the waves.

"Which is why I'm not lookin' forward to jumping in after you. But like I said—," he shuffled closer to Ian. "I don't see a choice." He stepped off of the railing, extending his palm to Ian once again. "Which is why I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here," he added with a half smile.

Ian spared Mystery Boy a glance, "you're crazy," he scoffed.

He laughed, "that's what everybody says," he said truthfully. "But, with all do respect," his tone turned humorous. "I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship," his half smile turned whole, making Ian's insides flutter stupidly.

Ian's mind started to change, his jaw setting then relaxing, "alright," he murmured and peered back. He began to feel foolish and slightly embarrassed by how well Mystery Boy had seen through him.

"I'm Mickey Milkovich."

Mystery Boy finally had a name, then. "Pleased to meet you, Mister Milkovich," his voice wavered as he greeted him. He began to turn, his hand extending to Mickey's and interlocking with his. As he turned on his toes, his dress sock slipped from the railing. He shrieked, hand instantaneously tightening around Mickey's. Tears streamed down his temples, his chest heaving with fear. "Help me! _Help me!"_ Please don't let go!" He cried and clutched both hands to Mickey's.

Mickey startled but remained determined, bracing himself against he railing. "I've got you!" He shouted over the rushing water and Ian's cries for help. "I won't let go," he nodded and began to hoist Ian up. "Cmon, pull yourself up, you can do it," he encouraged and pulled him over the railing, allowing Ian to collapse beneath him. "There you go, I gotcha," he breathed and found himself straddling Ian's thigh; only to be spotted by an infuriated crew member.

"What's all this?" The Englishman shouted and narrowed his eyes on Mickey. "Stand back, thief! You were attempting robbery!" He barked and signaled for the other crew who followed him to seize Mickey. "Fetch the master at arms," he growled.

-

Ian dreaded seeing Hannah after the ordeal. As well as his mother. His mother. _Fuck._ He heard Hannah, his mother, and presumably the master at arms stomping their way towards the deck.

"What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancé?!" Hannah spat and looked at Mickey like the scum beneath her shoes. "Look at me, you filth!" She scoffed and narrowed her eyes. "You're a good for nothing _thief_ ," she squinted and crowded his space.

" _Han_ , stop. It was an accident," Ian said and stood to make his way towards them, blanket around him and all.

Hannah whipped around, "an accident?" She asked incredulously, an eyebrow arched.

Ian nodded vigorously, "it was—," he paused to collect his thoughts. "Stupid, really," he nodded to himself again, locking eyes with Mickey for a moment. "I was leaning way over to see the.. the.." Ian was at a loss for the right words, looking to the master at arms for him to possibly fill Inc the blank.

"The propellers?" He offered politely.

Ian's eyebrows rose, pleased. "Yes! Yes, the propellers," he smiled at Hannah, then his mother. "If it wasn't for Mister Milkovich I would have fallen overboard and drowned," he finished and looked at Mickey pleadingly.

The master at arms stiffened, "was that the way of it?" He asked gruffly.

Mickey paused for a moment, holding Ian's gaze. "That's pretty much it," he nodded and Ian visibly relaxed.

"Well, the boys a hero, then," Hannah said with a tight lipped smile. "Come on, darling; you must be freezing," she doted on Ian who looked over his shoulder before giving in.

One of the crew members cleared his throat and sauntered over to Hannah, "perhaps a little something for the boy?" He suggested lightly.

Hannah nodded to herself, "a twenty should do it," she sufficed and continued to move onward, stopped by Ian's stillness.

"Is that the going rate for the man you love?" Ian asked, eyebrows raised at his fiancé. He shuddered.

Her expression turned annoyed. "Ian is displeased, what to do?" She grumbled and turned to face Mickey, who was massaging his wrists. "Perhaps you join us for dinner tomorrow, hm? Tell us of your heroic tale," she said condescendingly with a once over.

Mickey's eyebrows rose, only to give a casual nod. "Sure, count me in," he agreed, and Ian held back a snicker at the way he was so blatantly holding himself from snapping.

For the first time in his life, Ian found himself looking forward to dinner.

-

Ian stared at himself in the bathroom mirror of his chambers, observing what he saw to be a shell of a man. He jumped when he noticed Hannah lingering behind him.

"I know you've been melancholy recently, and I don't pretend to know why," she sighed, approaching him from behind. She extended a small case to him, a watchful look in her eye. "I've been saving it for our wedding, but, now seemed good of a time as ever," she smirked when Ian opened the small box.

"Good Lord, Han, it's a—,"

"Diamond, yes," she eyed the ring, the rare blue gem gleaming in the dim light.

"Isn't this, perhaps a bit.." he trailed off and turned to face her.

"Feminine? Maybe," she shrugged and took the ring from the box, placing it on Ian's ring finger. "Consider it a promise of my love," she said slowly, holding his hand for a moment, placing a lingering kiss to his lips.

Ian forced himself to return the affection, placing a hand on her hip for effect.

"There is nothing I'd ever deny you," she said, meeting Ian's eyes. "Nothing I couldn't ever give you," she paused before adding, "I am at your beck and call as soon as we marry," she punctuated with another small peck on Ian's mouth. "Right, well," she pulled away and pat his cheek gently. "I'm off to bed, you best get some shut eye as well, after the night you've had," she grinned and sauntered out. Her sudden sincerity had been startling.

Ian turned back to the mirror, eyeing the square cut stone on his finger. It was an ugly, heavy thing. He'd wear it eventually, he thought to himself as he placed it in his safe.

-

Mickey figured he'd never end up seeing Red ever again, other than maybe the dinner he was grudgingly invited to. He would've turned it down if it wasn't for him. He made a mental note to ask for his name next time they met.

He much preferred steerage life to first class, even if he'd only ever been an onlooker at most. They looked so stuffy, so uncomfortable, so _fake._ Mickey liked being who he was by birth. South side of the wrong town, born and bred, Mickey Milkovich.

He stopped his lazy sketch work when a slight collective hush fell over the crowd of the once noisy group. He peered up and did nothing to suppress the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips. It was Red, who looked suddenly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Despite his timid demeanor, he approached Mickey.

"Hello, Mickey," he murmured and fidgeted on the balls of his feet.

"Hello again," Mickey smiled, cursing himself internally for sounding too eager. He felt eyes fall on them, well— more so on Ian, the only first class passenger who would be caught dead in steerage.

Red only smiled, "could I speak to you in private?"

Mickey floundered for a moment, stuffing his drawing materials and sketchbook in his satchel. "Uh—," he nodded and scratched the back of his neck. "Of course, after you," he said politely.

They walked in silence on the top deck, the first class deck, and the view was breathtaking. The way Red's hair was casually styled and mused from the breeze, his lips full and soft looking; his eyes greener than anything he'd ever seen. The ocean was pretty, but it had nothing on Red. Speaking of, "so, you got a name, by the way?" Mickey asked, wanting to address Red as other than his hair color.

"Ian, Ian Clayton Gallagher," he introduced himself and kept an idle pace.

Ian Gallagher.

There was a pause for a moment, the only sounds around them the casual chatting of other first class passengers. Ian spoke up first, "Mister Milkovich—," he began, and Mickey cut him off politely as possible.

"Mickey."

"Mickey," Ian amended softly, turning to stop and place his hands on the railing to enjoy the view of nothing but ocean. "I.. I feel like an idiot," he sounded almost regretful. "It took me all morning to get the nerve to face you," he murmured and gave Mickey a non judgmental side eye.

Mickey rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his knuckle, "well, here you are," he murmured and joined him, eyebrows raising as he looked over the railing.

Ian smiled, "here I am," he murmured and kept his eyes on the cresting waves. "I— I want to thank you for what you did," he breathed and turned to face him. "Not just for pulling me back, but," he looked like he was trying to find the right word. "For your discretion," he settled on and turned back, almost bashfully.

"You're welcome, Ian. Truly," Mickey said honestly and meandered beside Ian and they lazily strolled along again.

"I know what you must be thinking," Ian shook his head, chin jutted with a slight pout. "Poor little rich boy! What does he know about misery?" He said animatedly, to which only Mickey only raised an eyebrow to.

"That's not what I was thinking," he said truthfully. "I was thinking.. 'What could have happened to hurt this boy so much that he thought he had no way out?'" he said boldly. If he was going to make a fool of himself, he figured he better do it right. He maintained steady eye contact with Ian's profile, who stole occasional glances his way.

Ian only sighed, "I don't.. it wasn't just one thing. It was _everything_. It was _them_ , their world, I felt sort of.. trapped," he looked embarrassed, for what Mickey had no idea.

"I just— needed to get away, you know? So many expectations that feel like _obligations_ , I just needed to run, to get away from _them_ ," he explained in a rush. "The _Titanic_ wasn't even big enough for me to escape my problems, and before I knew it—," Ian gesticulated to the wide open. "I was over the rail, and I thought, 'I'll show them, they'll be sorry!'"

Mickey raised an eyebrow, "sure, they'd be sorry, but you'll be dead," he said truthfully, to which is saw Ian blush.

"Oh Lord, I'm such an utter fool," he groaned.

"That broad last night," Mickey began carefully, "was she one of _them_?"

"Broad?" Ian looked at a loss for a moment before connecting the dots. "Oh, Hannah," he rolled his eyes. "She _is_ them."

"Your girlfriend, then?"

"Worse, I'm afraid," Ian said softly, and Mickey understood. Fiancé, most likely.

"So you feel like marryin' her is an obligation, hm?" He said, nonjudgmental.

"Precisely," Ian confirmed as they continued to walk.

"So don't marry her," he knows it's a bullshit statement, but it's worth a shot.

"If only it were that simple," Ian said, and Mickey can tell there's more complexity to that statement than on the surface.

Mickey persists, "it is that simple," he pressed.

Ian shook his head, "don't judge me until you've seen my world, Mickey."

He shrugged, "I guess I will tonight."

Things got awkward, only for a moment, until Ian sat on an open bench; where Mickey followed suit. He makes a grab his satchel before even asking, fingers ready to open it.

"May I?" Ian asked, holding his sketchbook.

He nodded, scratching the tip of his nose with his knuckle. He's not nervous about showing Ian, only— there's one thing. The french boys.

"Mickey, this are— they're incredible," Ian said in wonderment, flipping through various sketches.

He chuckled, "thanks, but they didn't think too much of them in _Paree_ ," he shrugged, some loose sketches being taken away by the wind before Ian can scramble to get them.

"Oh _shi—_ I'm _so_ sorry," Ian said mournfully, to which Mickey shrugged.

Mickey only shrugged, "it's fine, honestly. I'm always sketching, they're not worth a thing."

They sat in a comfortable silence, until Ian fliped to the nude drawings. The nude drawings of men. Some women, here and there, all prostitutes in the same brothel. Ian's hand startled on the page for a moment, his cheeks reddening as he saw more and more naked men, posing differently in each one.

"Well, well," Ian murmured, looking carefully at the photos. He raised the book to keep any possible wondering eyes away from the scandalous art. "And these were drawn from life?" He asked, sounding proper.

Mickey paused before he spoke again, "yup, it's the great thing about Paris," he said conversationally. "Lots of men and women willing to take their clothes off," he murmured between them.

Ian hummed in approval, eyebrow raising when he got to the fifth sketch of the same man, "you liked him," he said causally. "You drew him several times."

"He had beautiful hands," Mickey said immediately.

"You must have had a love affair with him, then," Ian's voice barely became above a whisper, eyes lifting from the page to meet Mickey's gaze.

"No, just his hands," Mickey murmured, eyes piercing back into his.

Ian averted his gaze for a moment, "you have a gift Mickey, you really do," he shook his head in what seemed to be astonishment. "You see people."

Their eyes met again before Mickey spoke up, "I see you."

Ian's response wasn't hesitant, "and?"

"You wouldn't have jumped."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I've updated! School and personal life have been hectic. Enjoy.

They stared at one another for a moment before Ian broke the eye contact, closing the sketchbook and handing it back to Mickey.

They eventually fell into step again, the salty breeze so refreshing Ian nearly let his eyes flutter shut. He felt a sudden burst of energy, breathing in deeply through his nose. "You know, my dream was always to just chuck it all and become an artist. Poor, but free!" He said enthusiastically.

"You wouldn't last two days," Mickey chuckled, causing Ian to frown. "There's no hot water and hardly _any_ caviar."

Ian's bubbly mood disintegrated in a flash, "listen, buster," he huffed and stopped pointedly. "I hate caviar! And I'm tired of people dismissing my dreams with a chuckle and a pat on the head," he finished indignantly. He saw Mickey's face turn apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, sounding sincere. "Really, I am."

Ian eyed Mickey for a moment before deciding he may have overreacted a tad, "well.. alright," he murmured and continued to walk beside him.

Ian piped up again after a moment, "there's something in me, Mickey," he murmured. "I feel it," he flushed at the choice of words but continued nonetheless. "I don't know what it is," he saw Mickey raise an eyebrow. "Whether I should be an artist, or, I don't know; a dancer," a grin spread over his face. "Or a moving picture actor!" He said animatedly and swung around a pole jovially.

Ian took his hand, running full speed down the deck with his head tossed back, laughing and breathing the salty air.

They run until Mickey was laughing too, their cheeks pinked from exertion. The sunset had nothing in Mickey's smile, Ian thought absently.

Ian wondered why being with Mickey like this made him feel so _free._

-

They walked together until sunset, the Titanic's first class deck large enough to maintain new places to stroll along without it becoming repetitive. They talked for hours, never becoming bored or awkward. It was easy, _free._ They sauntered along almost shoulder to shoulder, closer than two men should be if questioned, but there was hardly anyone around.

"So then what, Mr. Wandering Mick?" Ian said with a grin, his hair no longer styled like it had been this morning, the ocean breeze having taken a toll on the styling gel.

"I sold some drawings down in Los Angles at the pier in Santa Monica. It's a good place, rollercoaster and everything, sold em' for ten cents a piece," Mickey concluded with a nod to himself. Ian observed the soft curvature of Mickey's face and silently wondered how soft him skin was.

He chuckled, "a whole ten cents?" He joked, but Mickey hadn't seemed to understand.

He only smiled, the few freckles on his nose showing beautifully in the dim sunlight, "yeah, it was great money. I could make a dollar a day sometimes, only in the summer, though. When it got cold, I had to go to Paris where the real artists fucked off to," he murmured and Ian only blushed at the casual vulgarity.

They walked for a few more minutes, Ian watching the dusk settling on the water before he spoke up again. "Why can't I be like you, Mickey?" He breathed wistfully. "Just head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it," he turned to him. "Say we'll go there," he blurted boldly. "Sometime, to that pier.. even if we only ever just talk about it."

Mickey looked somewhat startled by Ian's sudden honesty. "Alright, we're going," he settled. "We'll drink cheap beer and go on the rollercoaster until we throw up," he laughed at the thought. Ian wanted to hear more of that, Mickey's laugh.

”We’ll ride horses on the surf, but no fancy ass straight backed riding. One leg on each side, no saddles,” Mickey grinned, though Ian looked mildly scandalized.

”Really?” Ian questioned. “Alright,” he laughed boisterously. “Teach me to ride like a _man_ ,” he chuckled and put on a fake southern accent. “And talk like a man, and.. and _spit_ like a man,” he snorted.

Mickey only peered over to him with an amused look. "What, they didn't teach you that in finishing school? Here, it's easy. Watch closely," he instructed and stopped to brace his hands on the railing. He saw Ian watch him with such rapt attention he began to expect him to take notes. He breathed in, gathered mucus from the back of his throat with a mighty heave; and spit it over the side of the boat.

He looked over to Ian, "your turn."

Ian nodded, looking determined as ever when he emulated Mickey's actions. And with great effort— he completely fucked it up. Like— his spitball barely crested over the railing.

Mickey doubled over laughing, his pinked cheeks from sunburn now even rosier from laughing. "That was pitiful! You gotta really put your back into it, man. Really make it _fly_ ," he said so seriously, Ian could've been fooled that he was an expert.

Though Mickey looked thoroughly amused as Ian straightened his back and raised his chin, gripping the railing and shoving forward with all his might and cheering when it emulated Mickey's.

"There ya go!" Mickey congratulated, clapping Ian on the back. "You could almost pass for steerage," he joked and nudged him with his shoulder at Ian's dapper coat.

"Ha ha," Ian rolled his eyes playfully and began to form another spit ball with Mickey, coming to a halt when Ian's mother and her entourage came strolling along the deck.

Ian was laughing along with Mickey until his exuberance petered out. He glanced over, confused, eyes widening when he saw his mother and her friends. Mickey nudged him with his elbow, alerting Ian of the saliva on his lips, which he wiped off.

"Mother," he greeted politely, stepping away from the railing and putting his arms behind his back and bowing slightly as a sign of respect for his mother and her friends.

"Ian," Monica greeted and gave Mickey a once over without a word. "We'll see you two this evening?" She directed to Ian only.

"Yes, ma'am," Mickey said with a lilt of sarcasm.

"Very well," she sighed and nodded for his entourage to follow her, along with Ian. "We must get ready," she said as a matter of factly, extending her elbow to her son. "Shall we?" She asked and Ian put on a smile, turning to Mickey. "I'll see you this evening?" He said hopefully.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Mickey said with a salute as Ian and his mother walked away; a smile on both men's lips.

All but a larger woman named Molly stayed behind, a genuine look of amusement on her face. "What're you wearing this evening, sonny?"

Mickey looked down at his outfit, taking in the grubby wool of his pants and his dirty button up. He pulled on his suspenders with a shrug, looking at Molly with an air of nonchalance. "This, probably."

Molly shook her head and laughed companionably, "that's what I thought. C'mon, lover-boy," she said with another shake of her head as she extended her arm.

-

There was nothing that made Mickey more uncomfortable than dressing up. He never really had to do it before, save for the occasional church visit on major holidays when he was a boy.

Molly took him to her stateroom, a mess of men's formal clothing strewn about in a mess that she seemed to not care about. In fact, she seemed to be having a grand old time.

"You have a figure like my husband! Well, if he'd been eating right. I always have to buy things in three sizes, never know how he's been eating while I'm away," her voice was chipper, a southern draw to it as she tied up Mickey's bow tie.

She stepped back to admire her work, handing him a jacket from the bed. "Go on," she gestured to the bathroom for him to go and fix himself up.

He murmured a soft thank you and meandered out after giving himself a few move overs, posing several times after the jacket was on. He did a twirl for Molly, who looked delighted.

"My, my, my.." she breathed, her tone impressed. She put her hands on her hips. "you shine up like a new penny."

-

Ian hated first class parties. They weren't much of a _party_ at all, merely a gathering where the affluent got to flaunt their _affluence_ and boast to their hearts content. Ian always felt lost when he was in the midst of it all, like he didn't belong.

He mingled by the grand steps, champagne in hand, when he was brought out of his rather melancholic reverie by Mickey descending down the stairs. He looked— _blindingly_ handsome. Ian gulped, smiling up at him as he made his way towards him. He was linked arm and arm with Hannah, who was happily tipsy and hanging all over him. Lovely.

As Mickey approached them, Ian perked up visibly. "Hannah," he called gently, faking his endearment perfectly. "Surely you remember Mr. Milkovich, don't you?"

Hannah brought her attention to Mickey, her gaze unimpressed as she studied him. "Milkovich! I didn't recognize you," she studied him again, "you could almost pass for a gentleman."

Mickey ignored the snide comment and bowed to her and Ian, receiving a glance of approval from Molly and Ian's mother giving him a sideways glance.

They meandered off, not before Mickey couldn't notice the way Ian's eyes lingered in him. Interesting.

Molly made her way over to him and nudged his side companionably, "ain't nothin' to it, is there, Mick?" She joked with an eyebrow raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes and took a glass of champagne from a waiter who walked by, "yeah, just dress like you're worth something and keep your nose up."

Molly nodded knowingly, "remember," she lowered her voice and got closer to him. "The only think they respect is money, so act like you've got a lot of it and you're in the club," she concluded with a wink and meandered off.

He found Ian in the dining hall, Hannah off to the side talking flirtatiously with another somebody while Ian broke free and found Mickey. It was a welcome change.

"Good evening," Ian greeted gently and stood at Mickey's side, arms behind his back with his hands clasped together.

"Evening, _Mister Gallagher_ ," Mickey teased and felt his chest bubble suddenly as Ian blushed.

"Oh, go on," he rolled his eyes and nodded towards the table where all of his "friends" were sitting. "Come, it's time to eat."

-

Mickey never felt so uncomfortable in his entire life, but he felt as if he was going a splendid job of faking it. Fooling rich geezers was easier than he'd thought.

Monica gave Mickey a once over, "tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Milkovich. I hear they're quite good on this ship," she murmured against the rim of her champagne flute.

Mickey shrugged agreeably, "best I've ever seen, ma'am, hardly any rats." He suppressed a grin at the way Monica's eyebrows lifted slightly.

Hannah had an unreadable look on her face as she spoke, "Mr. Milkovich here is joining us from the third class," she announced the table, and Mickey noticed the way Ian's has set. "He was of some assistance to my fiancé last night," she grinned and leaned her head on his shoulder for a brief moment, almost missing the way Ian flinched at her touch.

A waiter interrupts the awkward exchange, smiling politely at Mickey, "and how would you like your caviar, sir?"

Before Mickey can get a word out, Hannah butts in. "Just a soupçon of lemon," she said, as if her knowledge was superb. She leaned closer to Mickey, "it improves the flavor with the champagne," she added with a wink.

Mickey forced a smile, peering up at the waiter, "no caviar for me, thanks," he said politely before leaning over to Hannah, "never did like it much," he smirked.

He leaned back into his seat, eyeing Ian with a poker face while the red head struggled to keep his amused smile under wraps.

Monica broke the light silence that fell over the table, "and where exactly do you live, Mr. Milkovich?" she murmured after taking a sip of her champagne.

Mickey took a hefty gulp of his alcohol, smiling brightly at her, "well, currently, my address is the RMS Titanic, after that," he looked around the dining room. "I'm on God's good humor."

Monica's response was interrupted by salad being served, and Mickey looked thoroughly puzzled at the armada of forks. He grabbed for one until Ian gave him a look, pointing to a seemingly identical fork. He took it anyways.

Ian's mother took a dainty bite of her salad before speaking, "you find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?" She asked condescendingly.

Mickey raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. "Well.. it's a big world, yanno? I want to see it all before I go. My mom always talked about wanting to see the ocean," he reminisced with a distant smile. "She died in the town she was born in, and never got to see it. You can't sit around, 'cause you never know what hand you'll get dealt next," he shrugged. "See, my pops died from something mob related while my mom passed from a drug overdose," he continued before anyone could get a word in, "something like that teaches you to take life as it comes," he looked around at all the eyes on him. "Make each day count."

Molly looks thoroughly impressed, raising her eyebrows and her glass, "well said, Mickey."

One of the men beside Molly raised his glass as well, "here, here," he cheered softly.

Ian smiled and eyed Mickey before raising his glass as well, "to making it count," he cheered with several others who raised their champagne flutes.

Monica looked thoroughly disgruntled at the way Mickey seemed to win over the entire table, "how is it you have the means to travel, Mr. Milkovich?"

He shrugged, "I work my way place to place, doing odd jobs and all that," he nodded, "I won my ticket on Titanic here in a lucky hand of poker," he eyed Ian and gave him a discrete meaningful look. "A very lucky hand."

The conversations dissipated into murmurs and separate conversations amongst the table as the rest of the courses were served, a sheepish man who Mickey came to find out was the architect of this ship sharing some of his notes, keeping the group occupied enough to take the magnifying lens off of Mickey.

Ian leaned over to Mickey, a look of amusement on his face, "they'll leave for brandies in the smoking room," he said and gestured with his eyes towards the group of men flocking off in a direction assumed to be where the smoking room was. "Now they retreat into a cloud of smoke and talk about his rich they are and one up each other with their investments."

Mickey snorted quietly, peering up as a heavy set man with a curly mustache approached them, "care to join us gentleman?" He asked the two of them companionably.

"I don't smoke, but thank you," Ian politely declined.

Mickey side eyed Ian, grinning up at the man, "no thanks," he murmured and stood up, "I'm heading back."

Hannah stood, ready to head off with Monica and the rest of her gal-pals to drink and gossip, "probably best," Hannah directed at Mickey. "I hear it's all business and politics, that sort of thing," she glanced over his shoulder. "Wouldn't interest you," she smirked.

Ian glares at Hannah's back and stands up when Mickey looked like he was about to leave, "must you go, Mickey?" He asked quietly.

He sighed wistfully and nodded, "time for my coach to turn back into a pumpkin," he winked and as he shook his hand left a tiny folded up paper in HIs hand. He saw Ian raise a brow before he walked away.

_Make it count. Meet me at the clock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback and kudos are welcomed and appreciated :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lack of updates. I plan to make chapters shorter so updates can be more frequent. Enjoy!

Ian's heart thumped erratically in his chest as he stuffed the note in his coat pocket, glancing to the clock where Mickey was casually blending in though eyeing his direction.

Ian bid the rest of his farewells and rushed the rest of the way to Mickey, eyes alight with wonder.

"You wanna go to a _real_ party?"

-

Steerage was certainly something else. Ian had never known a life outside affluence, nothing other than money and power. Steerage was total opposite, yet they seemed more happy. Alive.

It was hopping and buzzing with activity and loud music, and the stench of beer and slight body odor permeated the air. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, having an underlying scent of oak.

He watched as Mickey danced with a little girl who had dark hair, her feet standing on his toes as they danced animatedly. Ian found himself feeling bold, so he politely interrupted, "may I cut in, miss?" He asked gently, the little girls expression sheepish as she nodded and scampered off.

"You're still my best dancer, Cora!" Mickey called after her and reached for Ian's elbow. "Let's give em a show, yeah?" He asked, grinning widely as Ian flushed.

"I don't know the steps, won't they assume—," he rattled off anxiously but was silenced by Mickey's tightening his grip.

"Just move with me," he spoke over the hubbub. "Don't think," he hollered, bringing Ian into step in a fast paced dance. They danced until Ian felt the bottoms of his feet tingle, sweat beading up on his brow from his gleeful exertion. Mickey grabbed both of Ian's hands, giving him a look before he began to swing them around wildly in a circle. They erupted in boisterous laughter while people and music whirled around them.

After a long while of moving, they retired on a table of men drunkenly arm wrestling and gambling. Ian eagerly gulped down the cheap beer and made a face of satisfaction as it went down, quirking an eyebrow and the surprised looking men. "What?" He asked with a smug grin, "you think a first class boy can't drink?" He punctuated with a final gulp from his mug.

As the evening progressed, the younger crowds dispersed to either hide away and do scandalous things or simply go to bed. Ian and Mickey made their way to to the first class boardwalk again, standing outside the entrance, not wanting the evening to end just yet and watching the vast ocean drunkenly in all of its glory. They sang nonsense tunes and died down into fits of soft laughter, tears of joy in their eyes from all the giggling.

"Look," Ian breathed after a moment, loud enough for Mickey to hear. "Isn't it magnificent? So grand and endless," he sighed wistfully as he gazed at the ocean, resting his weight in the railing. He felt the alcohol bubbling through him, the taste still on his tongue. He felt alive. The air was filled with only the sound of wind and the clattering of ropes for a moment before Ian spoke up again.

"They're small people, Mickey. My crowd," he sighed, feeling the sea breeze waft over his face. "They think they're giants on the earth, but they're not even dust in God's eyes," he said into the open air, directed to Mickey. "They live inside their tiny champagne bubble, and one day," he shook his head, "that bubble is going to burst."

He felt Mickey's presence beside him, his hand just barely touching Ian's. The gentle contact had Ian's breath hitching, his eyes traveling to where their pinkies brushed.

Mickey stared steadfastly at Ian's profile, "you're not one of them, there's been a mistake," he said simply, not moving away from his touch.

Ian stood up straighter, a lazy smile on his lips, "a mistake?" He asked.

Mickey hummed, "you got mailed to the wrong address," he teased and smiled as Ian chuckled to himself.

Ian relaxed for a moment until a star shot through the sky. "Look!" Ian pointed excitedly, "a shooting star."

Mickey whistled, watching as the light flew through the night. "That was a long one," he noted, eying the clear sky. "My mother used to say whenever you saw one, it was a soul going to heaven," he murmured with a reminiscent look on his face.

Ian's face turned thoughtful, "I like that. Aren't we supposed to wish on it?"

Their eyes meet after they'd closed them to make their wish, and the distance between them has grown significantly smaller. It would be so easy to kiss him, Ian thought to himself. If the look on Mickey's face was anything to go by, he was thinking the same thing.

"What did you wish for?" Mickey asked.

Ian smiled sadly after stepping back a tad, "something I can't have," he murmured, silence falling between them after a beat. "Goodnight, Mickey, and thank you," he forces out, hurrying past the first class entrance.

"Ian!" Mickey called out, sighing heavily when he knew it was a futile attempt at regaining his attention.

-

Ian sat across from Hannah in silence, eating bits of his breakfast whilst avoiding eye contact. Being around her made him uneasy, like he was always on eggshells.

"I was hoping you would come to me last night," she noted, forking a piece of omelette in her mouth.

Ian's response was delayed, "I was tired."

Hannah scoffed, "yes, your exertions below deck were no doubt exhausting," she sneered, eyeing him with a narrowed gaze.

Ian stiffened, "you had me followed," it was a question, rather a statement. He knew Hannah was conniving, and he didn't put it past her.

"Do you know the impression you give off, running about with your third class pal whilst avoiding your fiancé? It's laughable, Ian. See to it you never act like this again," she commanded, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm not some child you can boss around, Hannah. I am your fiancé—," he was cut off my Hannah slamming her fist on the table, teeth grit together.

"Yes, you are! And my husband.. in practice, if not yet by law," she breathed heavily, using the fist she slammed on the table to point at him. "And you will honor me as a husband honors his wife, is this in any way unclear?" She demanded.

Ian shrunk back into his chair, clenching his jaw, setting his utensils down and leaving without a word.

He knew better than to bicker and fight with her any further. When his father died, he left nothing to him and his mother besides debt. Marrying Hannah was more of a business arrangement than anything, and he was acutely aware that she knew that. Monica was adamant about Ian corralling his behavior, to never see Mickey again. It wasn't that easy.

-

Sunday approached and Mickey had been itching to see Ian ever since they'd parted ways. He knew he'd find him among the other fist class passengers in the chapel where Sunday service was held.

The steward at the door halted him from entering, the singing of hymns drowning out their talking.

"Look, you're not supposed to be here," the steward enforced politely.

Mickey looked desperate, "I was just here last night, don't you remember?" He pleaded, spotting a man from the night previous who accompanied the dinner, "he'll tell you."

"The Gallagher family continues to be most appreciative of your assistance, they asked me to give you this as gratitude," he said congenially, handing him two folded twenties.

Mickey stiffened, "I don't want money, I—,"

The mans sincerity turned frustrated, "and to remind you that you hold a third class ticket and your presence is no longer appropriate," he informed, though Mickey was too distracted spotting Ian to take offense.

"I just need to talk to Ian for a moment, sir," he pleaded, eyebrows furrowed.

The man handed the two twenties to the steward, "see to it Mr. Milkovich gets back where he belongs," he concluded and retreated back to the chapel.

The steward nodded and grabbed Mickey by the elbow, who shook free and went back on his own terms. He needed to see Ian, and settle what exactly was going on between them.

-

Ian strolled along the deck beside Hannah and Mr. Andrews, the architect behind the Titanic, discussing things at random about the ship.

"Mr. Andrews, pardon if I'm overstepping, but I did the sum in my head. And it seems as if there's not enough lifeboats for the capacity of people aboard," Ian noted, watching as Hannah stood close to Andrew's side.

Mr. Andrews chuckled, "about half, actually. Nothing gets past a Gallagher, hm?"

Hannah laughed, "they're a waste of deck space on an unsinkable ship," she stated confidently.

Ian startled to feel a hand on his elbow, turning to see that it was Mickey, who motioned him to follow into what appeared to be an unoccupied small gymnasium.

Ian steeled himself, avoiding his eyes. "Mickey, this is impossible, I can't see you," he attempted to keep his tone stiff, though he wasn't sure he was doing a great job of it.

Mickey took him by the shoulders nonetheless, "Ian, you're no picnic," he rushed out, eager to get his thoughts out in the open. "You're a spoiled little brat, even, but under that you're a strong, pure heart, and you're the most amazing, astounding man I've ever known, and—," he panted, cut off by Ian interjecting.

"Mick, I—,"

"No, wait," he rushed to continue. "Let me try and get this out," he sounded sincere, Ian's eyes finally meeting his. "You're amazing, and I know I have nothing to offer you, Ian," he breathed, hands moving from Ian's shoulders to his biceps, "but I see the way you look at me, and— and I'm involved now. You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowin' you're alright," he finished.

Ian's eyes stung with tears, his eyes flitting away from Mickey's again, "you're making this very hard," he breathed. "I'll be fine, really."

Mickey shook his head, letting Ian free from his grip. "I don't think so," he shook his head again, brows furrowed. "They've got you in a glass jar like some butterfly, and you're goin' to die if you don't break out. Maybe not right away, cause' you're strong," he cracked a sad smile, "but sooner or later, the fire in you is going to go out."

Ian crossed his arms low on his sternum, "it's not up to you to save me, Mickey," he sighed.

Mickey smiled, "you're right," he nodded, "only you can do that."

Ian blinked his unshed tears away, changing the subject. "I have to get back, they'll miss me," he cleared his throat, attempting to sound stronger than he felt. "Please, Mickey, for both of our sakes, leave me alone," he breathed shakily. "We're two men in a hostile world that wouldn't accept it, any way you put it. Whatever we have— it can't happen," he sighed, sparing Mickey a last glance before retreating back to his people.

Mickey watched him leave, his silhouette rippled from the warbled glass of the gymnasium.

-

Ian's heart felt empty, the same feeling overcoming him the night he was talked out of jumping. He missed Mickey, and he missed the feeling of openness and freedom he got with him. He thought his decision was for the best.

It was evening tea time, and Ian's eyes wondered to a mother teaching her son how to properly sit and drink tea. He saw the way the boy mindlessly tried to mimic his mother's commands, back straight, thumb tucked. Everything he did as a boy. He was suddenly overcome with a feeling of regret, and boldness. He calmly and deliberately spilled his tea over his lap, watching as Hannah and his mother gasped at him, "oh, look what I've done," he falsely admonished and excused himself.

-

Mickey had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, especially not being a man who's attracted to other men. He felt something for Ian though, enough to put himself on the line and let it out to Ian's face. He felt like a fool now, despite the feelings he still had for him. He went to where he knew he'd get some peace and quite, the bow of the ship, where there was nothing but water ahead.

"Hello, Mickey."

He startled, turning around quickly to see Ian standing there, wearing casual evening wear that made his hair look redder and his freckles more prominent, or maybe it was the setting sun on the horizon. Whatever it was, he was stunning.

Ian looked sheepish, the cold air nipping at the tip of his nose and ears, "I changed my mind.. your bunkmate said you might be up here—,"

Mickey cut him off and reached for him, " _shhh_ , come here." His gaze was soft as he put his hands on Ian's hips, as if he was going to kiss him. "Close your eyes," he whispered just loud enough to be heard over the roaring waters below them.

Ian's eyes fluttered shut, Mickey's hands gripping him firmly as he maneuvered him to turn around and step up to press against the railing, the curling ends of his hair being blown about in the wind while Mickey grabbed Ian's wrists and gently raised his arms in the air, like wings.

He put his mouth close to Ian's ear, a smile audible in his voice, "open them."

Ian's eyes opened with a startled but exhilarated gasp, "I'm flying, Mickey!" He exclaimed, heart thumping in his chest again as he breathed wildly to drink in the air. He felt alive once more, free. He held his arms out, grin nearly splitting his face in half. He leaned back against Mickey as he let his eyes fall shut again, a dreamy smile playing on his lips. He felt weightless, flying like a bird over the ocean.

Mickey pushed back against him, raising his own arms up to mirror Ian. Their fingertips grazed, then intertwined. He tilted his face forward to inhale the salty air filtering through the way Ian's hair blew about, the scent intoxicating in every sense of the word.

Ian's eyes opened again, turning and angling his head until their lips were near each other, arms lowering as he did so, fingers still tangled gently in each other.

Mickey's arms lowered too, fastening around Ian's waist to keep him sturdy. Their lips connected in a spark of heat, passion and unsaid emotions lighting a fire between them. It was endlessly romantic and intimate, Ian's head tilted back with Mickey's arms around him as they kissed with tremulous emotion with the wild ocean around them. Ian smiled into it while Mickey's tongue delved into his mouth. He let him, the wild ocean breeze adding to the sparks igniting between the two men. It was limitless and empowering, breathtaking and awe inspiring.

It was all Ian ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Feel free to leave feedback.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for spacey updates. Thank you all for bearing with me. Smut in this chapter.

Ian felt bubbly and free, watching from the opposite side of the room as Mickey set the scene for his drawing. He couldn't help but let a few chuckles free, putting a hand over his mouth for a moment to suppress it. "Will this light do? Don't artists need good light?" He asked, Mickey sitting across from him while making a face.

"Zat is true, I am not used to working in such 'orreeble conditions," he sneered in a terrible french accent, turning up his nose in a way that made Ian laugh madly. Mickey noted the paintings on the wall, marveling for a moment, "hey, Monet!"

He crouched next to the paintings and admired them while Ian moseyed along to Hannah's safe, Mickey in tow. "Han always insists on lugging this thing around," he noted absently.

Mickey scratched the back of his neck, "should I be expecting her anytime soon?"

Ian scoffed, "not if the champagne and gossip holds out."

With a mighty clunk, the safe opened, and Ian grabbed the ring Hannah had gifted him. He handed it to Mickey, who handled the obviously expensive jewelry hesitantly. "What is it? A sapphire?" He asked nervously.

Ian led them back to the lounge room of his and Hannah's chambers, standing near the edge of the couch. "A diamond, apparently. It's very rare, called the Heart of the Ocean," he said nonchalantly, watching as Mickey gawked at the ugly but undeniably expensive piece of jewelry.

He extended the ring back to Ian when he reached out for it, "Mickey, I want you to draw me like one of your french boys," he said boldly, a sultry lilt to his voice. "Wearing this," he murmured, slipping the ring onto his ring finger, "wearing _only_ this," he stated resolutely, watching Mickey's jaw drop comically slow.

-

Ian returned from a separate room wearing only a soft, emerald green robe, his hair mused up and soft in the dimly lit room. On his left hand was the Heart of the Ocean, and in his right hand was a dime.

"The last thing I need is another picture of me looking statuesque and artificial," he murmured, smirking at him. "As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want," he said before stepping forward to hand Mickey the dime.

He was nervous to expose himself so intimately to Mickey, but for some inexplicable reason; he trusted him. He parted the robe, maintaining his gaze when he let it fall to the floor.

Mickey looked so stricken that Ian let out a small laugh at how wide his eyes were, lips parted slightly. He laid on the divan, posing with his right arm over his head and his left hand on his chest, the sapphire diamond a crisp contrast to his milky freckled skin. "Tell me when it looks right to you," he spoke up, self consciously squirming a little in effort to recreate the drawing of the man Mickey had drawn so much.

Mickey shook himself out of his stupor, licking his lips, "uh— just bend your left leg a little.. and.. and lower your head— eyes on me, that's it," he instructed, watching Ian's body move to his gentle directions.

He began to draw, eyes flickering from Ian's body to his canvas to sketch an outline until he dropped his pencil, clearly flustered and red cheeked.

Ian stifled a laugh, grinning at Mickey being so hot and bothered. "I believe you are blushing, Mr. Artiste," he scolded. "I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing," he teased. He enjoyed watching Mickey sweat while he was so obviously distracted.

"He does landscapes," he murmured, trying to remain somewhat professional with the slightly foreign arousal in his trousers.

Ian's eyes softened, not trying to hide the way his cock hardened under Mickey's intense stare. He idly wondered if Mickey would draw him hard or flaccid. Either way, it wouldn't matter. He already adored the work of art regardless of how it looked, the moment was so intimate already. The candles illuminated Mickey's features beautifully, Ian's eyes resting on his full lips.

After an indistinguishable amount of time, Mickey set his pencil down after a swift scribble of his name in the corner, wiping his brow of the few nervous beads of sweat he'd shed.

Ian sat up, grabbing the robe to slowly wrap it around himself as he padded over to where Mickey held the drawing with both hands on either side of the canvas.

"Date it, Mickey," he smiled. The drawing was magnificent. It was detailed and natural, capturing Ian's likeness in a way he'd always wanted. "I want to always remember this night," he murmured, plucking it gently from Mickey's hands when it was handed to him, locking it in the safe along with the ring and a quick note he'd written.

He sauntered back, standing in front of Mickey with a small tube of Vaseline weighing heavy in the pocket of his robe.

"Ian—,"

Ian shushed him by extending his hand, pulling Mickey flush against him in a flourish, their mouths together in an instant. He pushed Mickey on the divan so he was propped up on it, making quick work of undressing him. Mickey naked was truly a sight to behold. He was lean but soft, plush in his middle and thighs while his arms and chest were more muscular.

"You're stunning," Ian murmured in awe, fishing the Vaseline out of his since discarded robe's pocket.

"Ian," Mickey said softly. Ian opened the Vaseline, listening to his lover intently.

"Yes?"

"Make love to me."

Ian surged forward, his heart leaping into his throat, quickly coating his fingers with the lubricant as he kissed Mickey feverishly. He gently slipped his index finger inside of his lover, swallowing his eager gasps. "Are you alright?" He asked, hoping he was making the prep good for him. He wasn't well versed in sex at all, but he knew what to do. With Mickey it all felt natural, the way his index and middle finger worked expertly inside of him, the way their cocks pressed together sent shockwaves of pleasure down his spine. All of it.

"Yes, it's— it's so good," Mickey moaned, biting and pulling on Ian's bottom lip with his teeth. "I think I'm ready," he breathed while Ian's two fingers slowly eased out of him, watching Ian's eyes when he pulled back, lining himself up with his freshly prepared hole.

As soon as Ian's cock was fully sheathed inside of Mickey, words left him. He was awestruck with how right it felt, being so close. He could wax poetic about the way Mickey's face tensed and relaxed in that moment.

"Mickey," Ian groaned, eyes fluttering shut. In this moment he could wax poetic about the way his and Mickey's body molded so perfectly together. Every pulse of his manhood throbbing inside of Mickey sent new and amazing feelings of pleasure and love to cloud his brain. Once he began to thrust, the noises Mickey made were enough to make Ian almost climax on the spot.

"Ian, _Ian_ , kiss me," Mickey pleaded, tightening his thighs around Ian's waist and arms snaking around his neck.

Ian surged forward and crashed their lips together, a mess of tongues and lips that tried articulating the multitude of feelings that were being felt and created in that moment.

Ian planted one foot on the ground to gain better leverage to really pound into his lover, and at the slight change of angle, Mickey cried out into Ian's mouth, his blunt nails pressing crescent moons into Ian's shoulders. " _Ah_ — Ian, I'm close," he whimpered, wrapping himself tight around him like a vice.

"Me too," Ian managed to grunt, using one hand to caress the back of Mickey's neck and the other to pump his lover to his climax.

"Ian, _Ian_ —," he gasped and bit down on Ian's bottom lip, climaxing all over Ian's hand with a high whimper.

His lovers cum was hot and thick where it landed on his hand and abs, the feeling causing his eyes to shut while his brows furrowed. "You're beautiful, you're _so_ —," Ian was cut off by his own orgasm, his hips stuttering while his cock pulsed deliciously inside his lover for a moment before his climax hit full force. He'd never felt anything like it before, it was like a million fireworks erupted under his skin and electric currents danced in his fingertips. It was a feeling he'd never let go of.

They basked in the afterglow for only a moment when a thumping knock sounded on the door. They scrambled frantically to get dressed, excitement bubbling in Ian's stomach at the prospect of running from one of Han's minions, no doubt.

"Mr. Gallagher? Hello?" The gruff man called out, hearing the hurried whispers and scuffling of the two men.

They scrambled from the corridor to the foyer, Ian guiding Mickey along seeing as he had no clue where to go. They were halfway across the open space when the man after them appeared, startling Ian with a jolt of folly. "Come on!" Ian shouted, grabbing Mickey's wrist to run in the opposite direction.

They sprinted through the corridor, shoving several passers by out of the way to hop into an elevator. "Take us down," Ian panted, hearing the scuffled footsteps of their pursuer. "Quickly, quickly!"

The operated scrambled to comply, both Ian and Mickey helping the steel door fall shut. As they began their descent, Ian gave a bold middle finger to their pursuer, erupting into laugher alongside Mickey.

They ran through various hallways and even the boiler room, feeling childlike glee the entire time. It was refreshing, feeling so unrestricted and wild. They nearly died causing a ruckus, but they soon made it to a less populated and more secluded part of the boiler room, catching their breath when they could no longer hear footsteps. It was dark save for the fires in the stokers illuminating only the high points on one another's faces.

Spontaneously, Mickey grabbed Ian's cheeks and molded their lips together passionately, leaving the redhead surprised and in love.

Ian gripped either side of Mickey's neck, the nape sticky with moisture while the sweat between their foreheads caused for even more clamminess. Neither of them cared. The only thing that mattered in the moment was the way Mickey's lips tasted against his. Slightly chapped and a bit salty, warm and manly. Ian's spine shivered, his fingers moving to tangle in Mickey's hair while the brunet delved his tongue into his mouth, pushing him against he wall in the process.

When they finally needed a breath of the humid air surrounding them, they still remained connected save for their lips.

"I've never felt more free in my entire life," Mickey panted, his thumbs stroking Ian's cheek bones.

Ian felt his eyes well slightly with tears, a smile spreading over his face, "you're telling me," he laughed breathlessly, leaning forward to mold their lips together once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and update as often as I can. Again, thank you for sticking with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated.


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